


Paul Is Not Dumb

by IsVampirismGay



Category: Lost Boys (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Gen, Humor, Not Beta Read, Pre-Slash, Teenagers, Vampires, also lots of inspiration came from ozzy osbourne's biography, if you want my music for this fic hmu, is this fic cinema? because paul is the wall and i'm projecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-29 17:22:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19404760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsVampirismGay/pseuds/IsVampirismGay
Summary: Local Teen Runs Away From Home And Hangs Out With People That Eat Other People, More At Tenaka I've Never Written Fanfiction Before, But This Fandom Is So Tiny I Will Do All The Work By Myself If I Have To





	Paul Is Not Dumb

**Author's Note:**

> This fandom is so small and has so little fanfiction it actually made me start writing my own. What the fuck.
> 
> I imagined Paul to be just about 5 years older then Michael, so this takes place in about '82 or '83. 
> 
> I've checked for spelling and grammar mistakes but since I have no beta and I'm not a native English speaker there are probably some mistakes in the text. Don't be afraid to point them out, so I can correct them!

Paul knew he was not dumb. Sometimes he would get high and act a bit weird and sometimes he couldn’t pay attention to people when important things were being said, but he was not dumb. 

Before he came to Santa Carla, before he met David and Max and the rest of the gang he had a mother and a father and even an older brother. His life was quiet, secure and completely unremarkable, just like his pastel button-downs. He was going to a nice suburban school where he has never learned a fucking thing.

One day his class went to a field trip to a museum and Paul has had the time of his life. He has learned more about history than in all these years sitting behind a desk and he felt absolutely ecstatic.

Too bad that when the exam came he couldn’t write it down.

Then he had to come home, shoulders hanging low and tell his mother how he has failed yet _another_ subject. She told him of her disappointment in great detail and when he was finally sent to his room, he finally let fat tears roll down his face and buried his face in the pillow so no one could hear his sobs.

Most of the time he was either bored out of his mind or completely miserable, so he started to act out, which more often than not got him in trouble with both the teachers and classmates. He was failing his classes and his parents were not happy. “Why can’t you be more like your brother?” they kept asking. “Why can’t you be good for once?”

“Why are you so _dumb_?”

Paul felt like he was going insane trapped in boring suburbia. Nothing he did was ever right, he couldn’t save his grades no matter how hard he tried and everyone thought he was stupid and lazy. He has figured that since everyone’s expectations for his future were abysmal anyway it didn’t matter if he stayed or just ran away. One evening he took his trusty old backpack, gathered all money he had and snuck out of the house, leaving behind only a note riddled with misspellings. He boarded the first bus going to the coast and for the first time in years he breathed a sigh of relief.

\---

He soon ran out of money, but he managed to get on pretty well, drifting from place to place, bribing favors out of people with jokes and a blinding smile. He’s found random jobs, helping out a store owner with renovation or cleaning up venues after parties.His once short and ashy hair has been steadily growing into a golden mane and as the weather was getting colder he found himself a black coat to shield him from the elements, trading an old sweater and a pair of khakis.

After a while he noticed that the older ladies, previously so charmed by his schoolboy image have started avoiding him and that motherly looking grocery store owners were shooting him disapproving looks. One night, after being shooed out of a dollar store, he wandered into a part of the town that he would usually avoid. Graffiti painted walls were slowly closing in and neon lights of seedy bars were the only things keeping the streets from being pitch black.

There was a group of youngsters hanging out at the corner, laughing loudly and drinking whiskey straight from the bottle. They had a music box, playing some rock with lively rhythm and catchy lyrics.

Paul has heard rock music before but he has never really had the opportunity to really _listen_ to it. Sometimes he would clean venues after shows, but he would think about a motel room and a nice shower that the money would get. His heartbeat synced in with the drums and the singer was venting out every single frustration Paul has ever felt.This was the first time he has paid any attention to the music blaring through the speakers and it was _really fucking good._

He closed his eyes and let the music pulse through his body, just taking it in and let it flow through him. He stepped towards the group, swaying slightly to the rhythm.

“Heeey, what’s up dude?” yelled a guy closest to him, swaying drunkenly.

“How’s it going, bro?” shouted Paul, inserting himself right next to the drunk. The rest of the group didn’t seem to mind additional company, and the circulating bottle was soon thrust in his hands. He took a hearty swig for courage and finally asked about what prompted him to approach these people.

“So what’s this music you got playing?”

“Woah, dude, you don’t know Twisted Sister? No way dude!” shouted another guy, smoke from the joint puffing out of his mouth and temporarily shrouding his head.

“Yeah, bro you look like you could _be_ in Twisted Sister!” added the girl who was hogging the whiskey bottle at the time.

Paul felt his cheeks heat up and he let out a shy laugh. He didn’t really know much about the back except the name and one song but still, this felt like the nicest thing anyone has ever said to him. He was drinking with complete strangers in the middle of the night with loud music playing in the background and for the first time in his life he felt like he _belonged._

He wanted to say something and started stammering, but was cut off by the boy who first greeted him. He clasped his hand on Paul’s shoulder, holding onto him for balance and loudly cleared his throat.

“We gotta show you more of this stuff, dude!”

\--- 

Paul ended up spending whole night with the group, sipping the whiskey and sharing the joint. It was the first time he was smoking so the first drag was quickly followed by violent coughing, his newfound friends sympathetically clapping his back. The stuff didn’t really hit him, but rather crept over his senses like a fog and left him in a state of lazy, bubbly happiness. After they ran out of weed and alcohol they stayed there, just chatting and listening to the music. Once they finally decided to go home, the friendly drunk guy invited Paul to sleep over at his place.

Paul has spent weeks there, not really caring that it was some unremarkable town in inland California. This was the first time he has had real friends and he didn’t want to leave them behind. They spent evenings hanging out at the bar where Paul has even found a job as a bartender. Local hard rock and heavy metal bands would play there at the weekends and Paul would sometimes dance along, much to the amusement of his patrons.

His new friends, his boss and his patrons never cared about Paul’s grades, never judged him for misspelling words or thought he was stupid even though he would sometimes forget the orders. Paul was even thinking about settling in that town until one of the regulars, who also played in a rock band started talking about doing a minitour of California. Despite liking the place and people Paul felt the itch to move again and he convinced the band to take him as a roadie.

\---

They were travelling in a van, more often than not sleeping in it right between the boxes where the instruments were stored. They didn’t earn much and sometimes Paul had to resort back to his pickpocketing skills for them to have enough food. It wasn’t exactly the glamorous rockstar life he would sometimes dream about but it was enough and he was happier than all these years trapped in the security of his home.

The band was playing in a random bar in some coastal city and Paul has found himself in quite an emotional tight spot. When he had started the journey few all these months ago, he wanted to come to the sea and now he was there. He could taste the salt in the air and the daytime heat radiating off the pavement and when the sea breeze tousled his hair and it felt like a new chapter. So even though he didn’t want to hurt his friends, he decided he’s leaving them.

“I can stay with you for a few more towns.” Paul offered after seeing how badly his friends have taken the news. They still didn’t look any better so he tried again “Look, you’ve all been amazing, taking me in and all that-”

“So you just want to leave?” one of them demanded, voice shaking. “You’re just gonna go away and forget about us?”

Paul wanted to say something but a lump was blocking his throat. The thing was that no matter how many days they spent together driving in a dingy van, no matter how much fun they had together, he knew that he wasn’t going to miss them. Sometimes you spend awfully long time with people that you get along but the moment they’re not there they fade out of your mind. Paul appreciated these guys, he really did, but he knew that in one week he’s going to be preoccupied with something else and they will be nothing but a distant memory.

“I’m not going to forget about you.” _Lie._ “I just need to be somewhere else.”

“Alright! Then be somewhere else!” shouted his friend. “And you better not show up again at the bar! They must have already found another bartender who isn’t as _dumb_ as _you_!”

Then they climbed back in the van, throwing out his backpack and driving off. Paul walked up to his bag, picking it up with shaking hands. He slowly walked up to a bench and sat down with his backpack in his lap, arms wrapped around it as if it was a teddy bear.

\---

Paul was painfully aware of how exposed he was, how everyone could see him if he started crying. He hung his head low and tried to blink away the tears, as if he could just will them into nonexistence. For a while he just sat there, fiddling with his bracellets and staring emptily until he realized that he’s stuck again with no place to sleep, no food and about half a bottle of water. He hung his bag like a shield on his shoulder and started walking. He felt dirty and cold and stupid and the buildings looming all around him seemed to just mock him with their neon signs and sun-bleached paint. _“Look at him,”_ they said _“He’s playing a rockstar but he’s really just a crybaby who can’t even keep a friend.”_

It was starting to get dark and his clothes were still all wet from the sweat and he really needed to find a place to sleep. The pleasant sea breeze was just cold enough that Paul knew if he spent the night outside he was bound to wake up sick. Just that morning (though it felt like a lifetime ago) he was talking with some locals and they mentioned an abandoned hotel a bit outside the town. Paul snatched a forgotten burger at a too-busy diner and drank up a glass of water left on a table of a random cafe.

The food and water gave him a surprisingly big boost of energy so he decided to just hike to the hotel instead of hitching a ride. The sun was setting but the abandoned hotel wasn’t too far, he could already see the cliff where it was supposed to be.

\---

Paul made a mistake and he knew he had only himself to blame. It was pitch black outside and that stupid hotel was still far away and it was too dark for him to even see _how_ far away. As soon as the sun set, it got really cold and Paul was now shaking in his clammy shirt and even the coat couldn’t stave off the cold. The summer made itself known in daylight, making everyone sweat, but the nights were still cold and Paul’s shirt still hasn’t dried up.

The climb to the top of the cliff seemed unending until he finally saw a white sign, glowing slightly in the starlight. He’s always had trouble reading and now, in the dark it was nearly impossible to discern the peeling letters so he just walked past it, hoping it’s not anything important. There was some sort of wooden structure that he could barely see so he just walked on slowly, carefully feeling the fence.

After banging his toes and shins on wobbly stairs he was standing in front of what seemed like an endless pit of darkness. At this point he was pretty sure this was not the hotel, but he was in a desperate need of shelter so he slowly and carefully climbed into the darkness.

\---

The climb down the hole was slow and treacherous and exhaustion made it even worse. But as Paul was reaching the end the features of the place started taking shape and the cold radiating from the stone was more and more prominent. It was a giant hall, with junk scattered all around and a huge chandelier lying on the floor in the center of it. There were a few openings at sides that probably led into some other rooms and caverns, but it was too dark and Paul was to exhausted to explore.

He saw some old curtains in a dusty pile and took them to an old sofa that was squeezed in the corner. He put down his backpack, kicked off his boots and wrapped himself in the curtains. All the dust made him sneeze loudly and as the sound echoed through hidden chambers Paul realized that this place probably isn’t as abandoned as it is said and if there’s anyone in there they know he’s here and that he should probably be very worried about that but he was tired and the curtains did an amazing job keeping him warm so he just fell asleep.

\---

He woke up to a grumbling stomach and a parched throat. He needed to get up but he was feeling comfortable and cozy and then the sound of waves and lack of any voices made themselves known and the reality of previous day hit him.

Paul spent a good minute or two wallowing in self pity until he remembered where he was sleeping and crashed off sofa like the world’s clumsiest caterpillar. His head swing around, looking wildly, while he tried to untangle himself from the curtain burrito. Luckily the place seemed as abandoned as last night and the panic slowly subsidued.

Paul finally got out of him makeshift blanket and took a swig from his water bottle. In daylight, the place looked absolutely magnificent in the way that haunted manors are magnificent. It was big and vintage, with cobwebs and dust in every corner. It actually _was_ the hotel, it must have just sunk in some sort of natural disaster. This hall must have been the lobby and there were even some stairs leading up to other floors. There was a bunch of old couches and sofas huddled in one part of the lobby and the floor around the was littered with empty bottles and takeout cartons. It was probably a popular party hangout for local teens.

Paul’s stomach loudly grumbled and broke him from the sleepy daze. He needed to get to the city to get some food and fresh water. There was this place called Santa Cruz or something like that which was just down the hill, so Paul picked up his sparse belongings and climbed out of the ruins.

\---

The way down to the city _(Santa Carla, not Santa Cruz)_ was pretty easy, morning sun still kind and gentle and when Paul walked past the sign welcoming newcomers _(the murder capital of the world? seriously?)_ he felt all cheerful and lively, the newfound freedom making itself known. It was weird, leaving his friends, because he was devastated at first, but the morning after he felt like he has shed his old skin, all fresh new. He knew he was _supposed_ to miss them, the music and the bar and the band, but that part of his life was over and he was staring a new chapter in its face. He was no longer Paul, the awkward newbie who had to be introduced to all these cool bands, now he was just Paul and if fancy would strike him, he wouldn’t even need to be Paul anymore.

He still felt like a Paul though, and this is how he introduced himself to a pretty barista in a cheap diner he found. She was charmed but cagey, still weak to Paul’s smile and sweet words even though he hasn’t had a proper shower or brushed his teeth in far too long. Or maybe she did notice his bony cheeks and took pity on him, but he didn’t want to think about that.

After filling his stomach with a hearty omelette and some free pieces of bacon, he ventured further into town, looking for a job. He found one at the Boardwalk, cleaning after the concert that would supposedly open the summer tourist season. He still didn’t get a proper place to sleep but as long as the old hotel was there, he didn’t worry about it. There was still a considerable amount of time until the concert, so he stole some soap and washed himself at one of the free showers installed on the beach.

Feeling squeaky clean and smelling like cherries, he tried his chances at finding a more stable job for the next few weeks or so. After wandering around the town and trying to talk to people, it slowly dawned on him that this place had _areally fucking lot_ of missing persons. Posters with smiling photos were glued to every available surface, black and white faces following him everywhere. It explained why the locals were so withdrawn, why even his best efforts at charming them produced a lukewarm reactions. Many were looking at him like he was the enemy, in a way that had nothing to do with the usual “rock music has made you into a degenerate” vibe he received. He felt almost responsible for all the missing people, even though he had no clue about them until he saw the posters 

Other people looked at him with a weird sort of pity and he has started to expect himself to be snatched by a shadowy figure and join the ranks of the missing persons. No one would print a poster for him, he realized. It was a sobering thought, knowing that in that particular moment he was all alone in the world and that _he_ has made it so. He needed to find some company, to distract him and keep the more negative thoughts at bay.

\---

There were three bands performing at the concert, each of them playing a different genre and the transitions almost gave Paul whiplash. The first one of the night was a hippie, flower-power one that felt like it somehow stumbled right out of the summer of ‘69. Even though the main audience was mostly ex-hippie parents, some dragging their children, one particular spectator caught Paul’s eye. He must have been around 20, with long dark hair, dressed like a rocker but swaying to the music with such raw _longing_ on his face he seemed like he belonged right in the sixties. Then the song ended and the mystery man fell back into he present. He looked around, locking eyes with Paul who immediately looked away, turning red out of embarrassment of being caught staring.

After the band was done with their set, the parents with children left and then came the angry teenagers. Some thrash metal band started playing and they looked so young, Paul was pretty sure their parents had to give them a ride to the Boardwalk. In the meantime the hippie man got company, another man who looked of similar age and together they were discussing something privately. The new guy was sporting a gelled up mullet, bleached by peroxide, and it should have looked stupid, except that it didn’t. One of the thrashers stumbled a bit too close to the pair and the peroxide blond sneered at him, fear immediately covering the teenager’s face. The band on the stage was screaming something about killing as one and the pair was smirking at the crowd with such coldness and disdain that Paul felt shivers down his spine.

The baby thrashers finally finished their set and a wave of relief washed over Paul. He couldn’t help but keep watching the two mystery men and with each song they looked more prepared to straight up _eat_ someone. He started wondering if they were somehow related to someone missing or dead, because with each mention of death or killing in a song, their eyes grew icier and more disgusted with the musicians and the audience. Considering the fact that the band almost didn’t know what else to sing about didn’t help the situation at all.

The next band was already setting up their instruments and not to judge people by their looks, but _finally some good fucking glam_ and Paul was ready to party. The band was some european one with a weird name _(Yaoi Rocks? Nah, that wasn’t it.)_ that Paul immediately forgot, but they rocked nontheless and he just let himself get lost in it. The music was good, the crowd was good and Paul was so deep in it he didn’t notice how the tables have turned as the two mystery men looked at him with their intense eyes, quietly exchanging remarks.

\---

The clean up wasn’t particularly fun, with how exhausted he was feeling, but it payed relatively well and Paul really needed that money. His body felt like a carcass run over by a few trucks and he had to walk all the way up the hill and down the pitch-black steps into the hotel. He somehow managed, even though the walk wasn’t nearly as nice as in the morning sun and he was freezing in his sweaty clothes again. He carefully descended the steps, remembering the little drops and uneven edges from the last time. When he finally arrived to the bottom, he was greeted by a well lit hall and the mystery men from the concert goring a corpse.

“Aw fuck,” said one of them and _holy shit look at their fucking faces ohmygod_ and then Paul’s brain decided it’s not ready to deal with the situation and shut down.

The two men looked at Paul’s unconscious form that was lying face first on the ground. Their faces shifted back to normal.

“So, are we eating him anyway or...”

The peroxide blond shook his head. “We’ll just convince him he had a bad trip or something.”

“He’ll never believe us.”

“Then we just turn him when he wakes up.”

A wet _thud_ echoed through the hall. Both men looked at the drained corpse lying collapsed on the ground.

“You do the cleanup, I’ll get the boy,” said peroxide blond.

“So you’ll be able to stare at him creepily until he wakes up? How about _you_ do the cleanup for once!”

“I’m the _leader!_ I should _never_ do anything like that!”

“But you’re shit with people! You just creep them out or use some stupid mind tricks!”

They glared at each other in silence for a minute.

“Alright, have it your way,” relented the peroxide mullet. “You’re the one good with kids anyway.”

“I’m not a fucking kid,” said a muffled voice.

Both men turned to Paul, who has during their argument somehow regained consciousness and was now trying to sit up. Emphasis on trying because the moment he moved in a vaguely upright position he groaned in pain and collapsed back on the floor.

The dark haired man slowly crouched next to Paul. “You look like you’ve taken a pretty bad bump,” he said, the still bloody hand coming to rest gingerly on Paul’s shoulder.

“Are you okay?” said the mullet man dumbly.

“Do I fucking _look_ -” started Paul, who was getting really cranky with the two strangers. He sighed.

“Come on, I’ll help you to a real bed,” said the dark haired man and before Paul could agree or protest, he just picked him up and carried him through the pitch-black corridors bridal-style.

The peroxide mullet stayed in the hall, awkwardly standing next to the corpse. He nudged it with a foot.

“Why don’t you go clean yourself up,” he said.

\---

The combination of post-concert exhaustion, bruises from collapsing and post-fainting headache was quite possibly the worst thing Paul has ever felt in his life. He was in pain, dirty and tired and he just didn’t have the emotional capacity to feel any sort of fear or concern, which left the two vampires to deal with what was quite possibly the crankiest human they’ve ever encountered.

He was finally lowered into a bed, a fancy canopy thing that must have looked absolutely magnificent back in the day, but it’s glamour has been thoroughly diminished by decades of dust, moths and spider webs. Still, it was the first bed Paul’s been since leaving to tour with his friends and it was still one of the most comfortable places he’s slept in.

“I have the worst headache of my life so if you two wanna end my life you better do it now,” he told the dark-haired man, who was starting to look very uncomfortable.

“I swear we won’t,” he started, awkwardly scratching his head. “But I guess I could bring you some wine?” he suggested lamely.

“Yeah, that would help,” said Paul, groaning some more. “Can you please stop staring at me now and go get that wine?”

The dark-haired man snapped out of whatever came over him. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be right back.”

\---

“Dwayne!” shouted the peroxide blonde.

“What is it?” answered the dark-hair.

“Is this clean enough?” asked the mullet man, gesticulating at the floor of the hotel lobby. It was painted with blood, but the corpse and the worst of the mess was gone. There was a trail going from the main stain to the stairs up. It still looked like a crime scene, but more like the one in movies that didn’t have enough money for special effects.

Dwayne facepalmed. “Can-can you please just give me the blood bottle?”

“No way, I have to do it.”

“Whatever!”

\---

The darkness was nicely soothing for his poor head and the moth-eaten blankets were strangely soft and Paul would have already be sleeping if his mind wouldn’t be racing 100 mph.

Encountering the two people that were probably the men behind all the disappearances? Scary, although strangely satisfying to solve this one. Somehow not becoming their next victim? Good, although he suspected he was being kidnapped at the moment. Finding out these men _ate_ their victims raw? Freaky and disgusting and quite frankly, Paul didn’t want to dwell on this fact because his stomach was already upset enough.

This was already enough to guarantee anyone’s sleepless night but then came the fact that these two men could transform into some strange monsters. The sight was enough to send most people babbling incoherently in a mental hospital closed ward, but for some reason Paul wasn’t one of them.

Life was already weird as it is and Paul was feeling too tired to conjure up the energy required to lose his mind.

He’s heard approaching steps and there was also a faint glow of a torch that illuminated the corridor for the first time. The two mystery men entered the room, the dark-hair with the torch and the peroxide blonde carrying a dusty bejeweled bottle of dark wine.

“I thought since we’re having a guest here for the first time in a long while,” said the blonde, “we could celebrate with something special.” He smiled and even though his face looked perfectly normal now, it seemed like his teeth were too big and too sharp and too shiny for a normal human.

“And we’re sorry for scaring you like this,” said dark-hair.

The blonde uncapped the bottle and took a swig. He closed his eyes, savouring the taste before handing the bottle to the dark-hair. It felt almost like that fateful summer night, the smoke of cigarettes and weed and Twisted Sister playing loudly. When it was Paul’s turn with the wine, it looked like a cheap whiskey bottle for a moment.

Just like that time, he took it and gulped down its contents.

\--

The rest of the night was spent in a daze, the pain from his head and body disappearing and the cold spreading through his body, but not bothering him anymore. He didn’t feel tired, instead he kept drinking with the men that introduced themselves as David and Dwayne.

They moved to the main hall and they let him drink the rest of the bottle. They ended up making fun out of David’s cleaning skills, Paul too drunk to let David’s murderous looks faze him anymore. Somehow the whole thing then turned into a cleaning race, all three of them armed with wet rags trying to outdo each other in the amount of blood mopped up. Paul was too drunk to dwell on the fact that he was partying with murderers, or monsters, or that they were having a cleaning competition of all things.

“You’re one of us,” declared Dwayne, who won the race, clapping him on the shoulder. Paul has already emptied the bottle and was swaying dangerously.

“Welcome,” said David, grabbing Paul’s other shoulder, “to the club.” A feral smile spread over his face and Paul laughed, without really knowing what he was laughing at. Dwayne ruffled his hair and Paul laughed some more.

He was drunk and was having both the worst and the best night of his life. It was nice, having friends and company again, even though they literally were murderous monsters.

\---

Later in the night they moved outside, not really doing much, just talking nonsense and sitting on the edge of the cliff. It was pitch black because of the clouds but somehow Paul could see just fine. He was too drunk to question it.

Their legs were dangling above the crashing waves below and they were laughing at the adrenaline of it all. Then suddenly David’s face sobered up and he turned towards Paul.

“Do you want to be one of us?” he asked.

Images of the mangled corpse and blood on the lobby floor flooded Paul’s mind. But then he remembered the security of Dwayne’s arms and the solidness of David’s presence. He remembered Dwayne and David with monstrous faces, stained with blood and he remember their faces lit up with genuine smiles and laughter.

“Yeah,” he answered. Her was being selfish, but he was too drunk to feel bad about it.

David smiled _(and corners of his eyes crinkled and he looked so young)_ and looked at Dwayne. “Lead the way,” he said.

Dwayne gave one of his half-smiles _(and he looked so young too, was any of them even a day over 21?)_ and jumped off the edge of the cliff.

Paul looked at him in shock as Dwayne was falling down in what seemed to be slow-motion and then David nudged his arm.

“Come on,” he said and threw himself off too. Dwayne was still falling and Paul was looking at them both, plunging to their deaths, leaning more and more forward until the brittle edge couldn’t hold him up anymore and Paul fell down together with crumbled rocks.

He screamed.

\---

When Paul opened up his eyes, he had no idea where he was, what day it was, what happened last night or how did he get there. Then the memories of the previous night came back and he got hit by the absolutely worst headache of his life.

After he had fallen off the cliff, time seemed to slow down and drag out like a chewing gum. He was falling towards the waves and he realized he wasn’t prepared to die and he wished for wings, like angels have, so he could spread them and avoid the deathly surface. Then he remembered he’ll never get angel wings, _how could he,_ if he's accepted friendship of monsters so quickly and once he breaks through the surface of water he’ll probably just keep falling on and on and on until he’d fall to Hell because of how easily he cast the lives of innocents aside.

He didn’t grow any wings, but he still avoided the surface and shot up right into the sky. As he was ascending towards the clouds, he couldn’t really comprehend what had just happened and the adrenaline, fainting, exhaustion and wine finally made his presence known and the world turned black.

\---

All the memories and the headache were a bit too much so Paul just closed his eyes and turned to the other side, falling asleep again.

\---

Paul opened his eyes again.

“Good evening, Sleeping Beauty,” said a mocking voice. David was sitting on an old chair in the corner of the room.

“Got knocked out pretty well,” he continued, “The sun set at least an hour ago.”

Paul sat up and tried to will his brain into cooperation.

“What happened last night?” he asked.

“You became one of us,” answered David. “I thought I made that quite clear.”

Paul was just sitting on the bed for a moment, mulling over the answer. “One of you as in...” He mimicked the transformed faces of his friends, using his fingers to signify the fangs.

“Kind of,” said David, getting up from his chair. “We’re vampires.” he helped Paul get on his feet. “And you’re almost one too.”

They walked together to the lobby, where Dwayne was tidying up the couches. He waved to them when they entered.

“Why am I only _almost_ one?” asked Paul.

“You haven’t made your first kill yet,” replied David.

“We thought you’d do it tonight,” said Dwayne, who finished fussing over pillows. “Go to the town, find someone nice and juicy and bring them over here, so you’re all comfortable.”

Paul froze. One thing was to turn a blind eye on his friends’ atrocities and another one was to kill someone by his own hands. “I don’t- I don’t think I-” he stammered.

“It’s going to be fine,” said David.

“I’ve even tidied up! And dusted! I’ve made this place all nice!” exclaimed Dwayne, gesticulating at his handiwork.

“Come on, let’s go, you’ll loosen up soon enough,” said David, steering Paul towards the stairs outside.

\---

Paul ended up riding with Dwayne and together they went to the Santa Carla Boardwalk. The locals seemed to be familiar with them, as no one complained when they parked their bikes wrong. When they entered the Boardwalk, the crowd seemed to part for them and people averted their eyes as they passed by. The only immune ones seemed to be the teenagers, who instead looked at them with a strange mixture of awe, envy and hunger.

“Seen anyone tasty yet?” asked David. Paul shook his head, continuing to stare at the crowd.

It was strange, because he saw people, but his mind was screaming _food!!!_ at him. A girl passed by him and she was a pretty one, wearing bright pink lipstick and big earrings and he could almost _taste_ the heartbeat under her skin and his teeth started to itch.

“Whoa, buddy, is this place a bit too much?” asked Dwayne. Paul nodded, afraid to open his mouth in case the fangs already sprung out. David and Dwayne quickly steered him towards the more deserted part of the beach.

“You must be really hungry,” commented David after Paul had calmed down. “Did you eat at all last few days?”

Paul let his head hang low, hair obscuring his reddening face. This topic never came up when he used to hang out with people, even when he was sleeping on their couches, but now he was just too embarrassed to admit he was basically homeless and penniless.

“Hey, it’s alright, buddy,” said Dwayne, his coming to rest hand on Paul’s back. “We can find you a snack in some other, less crowded place.”

“Can’t afford making a scene at the boardwalk,” added David.

Paul nodded and took a few deep breaths. Hunger was still gnawing at him, but with less people around him it was manageable.

“Let’s take a walk on the beach instead,” said David, slinging his hand over Paul’s shoulders.

They passed by a few people, but even though hunger roared in his stomach and chest at the sight of every single one of them, David muttered “Not them,” and urged Paul to move on. David kept sauntering on like he owned the place, with Dwayne and Paul at his side, looking almost like his lackeys. Which they probably were, realised Paul. It didn’t bother him as much as it probably should, despite his free-spirited nature.

“Degenerates like you kids are going to be the downfall of this country!”

The words were shouted after them, clearly meant to establish the speaker’s role as the moral authority rather than to provoke any change or reaction, but they still turned around. David walked up to the speaker, a middle-aged man in a neatly ironed button-down and khakis with an equally tidy and boring wife at his side.

The vampire exaggerated the swagger in his step, grinning cheekily at the couple. Despite the childish expression and the cartoonish walk, his eyes were icy cold and dead serious.

“Ooh, how intriguing! Please, mister, do tell me more!” he exclaimed, eyes widening with fake curiosity. The woman pressed herself closer to her husband, clearly uncomfortable with the confrontation, but the man took the chance to rant at some youngsters.

“You’re all so vain and hedonistic! You slack in school and skip classes, you party all the damn time, drink and do drugs instead of studying-”

“Sir, are you aware of the fact that we are having summer holidays right now?” cut in Paul. The man’s face reddened and before he could unleash some more self-righteousness, his wife suddenly gathered the courage and started wagging her manicured finger at snickering Paul.

“Youth like you have no respect for your elders! You should be ashamed!”

“What?” laughed Paul.

“I said you should be ashamed, you shallow, disrespectful, _dumb-_ ”

Paul launched himself at her, and Dwayne barely managed to restrain him.

“Calm down, we’re still in public,” he whispered. Paul was still clawing at Dwayne and breathing heavily. “We’ll find them later, I promise,” added Dwayne, trying to keep Paul from fully vamping out.

David’s face turned into an expressionless mask. “You’re going to regret this,” he hissed before turning around and helping Dwayne guide Paul away.

\---

They ended up camping out on a dark part of the beach, with Dwayne sitting by Paul and David monitoring the couple.

“As soon as they’re out of the crowd, we’ll get them,” said Dwayne, rubbing Paul’s back.

“Whatever bad things people like them have said – or done – to you, you’ll give them all back,” continued Dwayne. Paul nodded silently, still stone-faced.

“I’m not _dumb_ ,” he finally said.

“Of course you’re not.” Dwayne stopped for a moment, lost in thought, then he continued rubbing Paul’s back. “People like to put you down because you’re different,” he said softly. “They tell you that you’re dumb or insane because you’re not like them and they can’t understand you. People fear what they don’t understand and then they try to subdue you, make you feel worthless. Doesn’t mean you’re lesser than them. Just different.”

Paul nodded and they sat there without saying anything else. After some time, could have been three minutes or three hours, David walked up to them.

“They’re moving,” he said, “Let’s go.”

They stood up and the trio trailed off towards the crowd in deathly silence.

\---

The couple was fussing with their car keys in a badly-lit parking lot.

“All these young people,” started the woman, “they really make me feel unsafe.”

Her husband grunted in agreement, still trying to fish out the keys out of his pocket.

“They looked like total junkies.”

The husband finally found the keys.

“And they’re so disrespectful too!”

Then came the long ordeal of trying to insert the key into the keyhole.

“They looked drunk, I bet that the other blonde one was smoking grass too.”

The doors opened. The woman climbed inside, careful not to move a single permed up hair out of its place.

“You know, I think you’ve hurt Paul’s feelings, saying all that.”

The woman looked up, screamed in terror at what she saw and the next moment she had no throat to scream with anymore.

Dwayne was already on the man, muffling his screams with practiced ease and digging in his fangs. David stood a little bit away from the scene, enjoying the view. His trademark smirk turned into a vicious laughter as his face morphed and he joined Dwayne.

\---

It was so _good,_ digging in his fangs and tearing the flesh. The blood burst on his tongue and its heavy, coppery taste overwhelmed his senses and sated the gnawing hunger. He bit and tore and drank until the body in his hands was so badly mangled, it could barely pass as human.

It wasn’t just about the blood and the hunger, it was other things too. There were far too many people just like this women that said so many words to Paul. The kind of words that made him feel small and stupid and _dumb_ and sometimes such people would lock him into his room or make him sit _still_ with other kids who were said to be just like him but they _weren't_ and even among them he was still so _alone._

He wasn’t alone anymore, though. He had David and Dwayne now and he could hear them over the screaming in his ears, how they laughed and ate and tore at the other victim.

They were monsters, murderers, and he was one of them.

And he kinda liked it.

**Author's Note:**

> If you've guessed the two bands at the concert then congratulations, you should give yourself a cookie!
> 
> I'm @isvampirismgay on Tumblr, come talk to me, I have music recs and know random facts about central European/Balkan vampire folklore


End file.
